The Road to Compiegne (53 page)

Choiseul with his wife and sister left Versailles for Chanteloup.

Through the capital they drove, followed by numerous carriages containing their followers and possessions.

The citizens watched them.

‘There goes a great man,’ they said. ‘He is dismissed because Madame du Barry says he must go.’

Choiseul knew their thoughts and smiled benignly on them. He was certain that it would not be long before he was returning.

To Chanteloup, he thought; there we will hold a court which will be almost as luxurious as that of Versailles, and perhaps more brilliant; there shall be made welcome the philosophers, the most brilliant of the writers; there shall be written songs and satires; and one day, not far distant, it would be Madame du Barry who drove from Versailles in disgrace while the Choiseuls came back in their glory.

With the dismissal of Choiseul the
Parlement
had lost its most powerful supporter.

Maupéou was doing his best to persuade the King that the power of the
Parlement
should be curbed and a new system set in motion.

Louis however, having at last given way to persuasion over the dismissal of Choiseul, was undecided.

Madame du Barry was called upon to help him make the decision, and this she did by having placed in her apartments a large Vandyke picture of Charles I. Her excuse for doing this was that the Barrys were related to an Irish family, the Earls of Barrymore, who were vaguely connected with the Stuarts. Thus, said Jeanne du Barry, the gentleman in the picture was a connexion of hers.

But the real reason that picture had been installed was that it might be a perpetual reminder to Louis of what happened to a King who had been in conflict with his Parliament.

As the situation worsened and the
Barriens
determined that something must quickly be done, Jeanne was told to remind the King verbally of what had happened to Charles I.

This she did, putting her arms about Louis, saying: ‘This picture has become to me as a warning. Oh, Louis, dismiss your
Parlement
. Remember it was a
Parlement
which cut off that fellow’s head.’

Louis turned to look at the tragic King depicted on the canvas.

He remembered the stares of the people, the sullen mutterings, the state of his country.

He gave an order, and on that cold January night his musketeers visited the homes of all magistrates to deliver
lettres de cachet
which they must accept, or agree to a new set of rules which should be laid down by the King.

They refused to comply and accepted the
lettres de cachet
; and a new Government was formed under the Triumvirate of Aiguillon as Foreign Minister, Maupéou as Chancellor and Terray as Comptroller-General.

Louis spoke to its members on its inauguration, saying: ‘I order you to commence your duties. I forbid any deliberation contrary to my wishes and any presentations in favour of my former
Parlement
, for I shall never change.’

The clouds of revolution had begun to take definite form over the land of France.

Chapter XXI

THE END OF THE ROAD

T
he King and his mistress gave themselves up to pleasure, but Louis felt old age creeping upon him. There were times when
ennui
caught up with him and he could not throw it off; he thought a great deal about death, for so many people who had shared his life had died. If he heard of anyone’s dying he would demand to know the details of the disease and their manner of passing; he would often stop a funeral
cortège
of strangers and ask for these details. Then he would brood on them and would find them even more depressing.

Life would have been intolerable but for Madame du Barry, who was constantly at his side, bright and gay, full of vitality, always seeming to know exactly what he needed to disperse his gloom. Thus he relied upon her, and grew uneasy if she were not at hand.

When she was honoured he was delighted, and when Gustavus the Crown Prince of Sweden visited the French Court and treated Madame du Barry as though she were Queen of France, giving her as a parting gift a collar for her dog, which was inset with diamonds and contained a thirty-six-inch chain made entirely of rubies, he was more pleased than she was.

He liked to see the animal wearing his collar and chain, and Madame du Barry and the dog were often observed walking with the King in the gardens, her dog almost as glittering a personage as herself.

They both delighted in their animals; Louis, who had from childhood days always loved cats, was on one occasion more angry than his courtiers had ever seen him when he discovered some of them intoxicating his cat with wine that they might watch the creature’s antics.

This shared love of animals, of botany and of cooking was mutually enjoyable. She was to him the most satisfactory person at Court.

But Madame du Barry had been warned by her friends that Madame de Pompadour had kept her place by finding young girls who would please the King. Jeanne had always known that she would be a fool to ignore her successful predecessor’s example, so occasionally she procured a beautiful young woman whom she presented to Louis.

As for Louis, he was not greatly interested but, since his dear Madame du Barry had taken such pains for his pleasure, he felt it would be a breach of etiquette to explain that he was feeling his age and found her adequate to meet his needs.

So occasionally Madame du Barry would archly leave him alone with some little friend of hers – always making sure that the companion of the evening should be possessed of more beauty than brains.

Marie Antoinette and the Dauphin were as tiresome towards Madame du Barry as the Dauphin’s father and Marie-Josèphe had been towards Madame de Pompadour. The flighty young Dauphine had refused to acknowledge Madame du Barry by not speaking to her at receptions, thus creating a very awkward
contretemps
because, until spoken to by the Dauphine, Madame du Barry herself must not, according to the demands of etiquette, make any remarks.

The Dauphine had been very obstinate, and only stern admonitions from her mother, the Empress (strained relations with France were imminent at that important time when the division of Poland was being considered) forced the frivolous young woman to fall in with the King’s wishes. As a result she made the comment ‘
Il y a bien du monde aujourd’hui à Versailles
’, which was soon quoted in various intonations throughout the Court – that pointless comment which had to be spoken to prevent strained relations between two countries!

The Dauphin was a disappointment to his grandfather – a great shuffling boy without any Court graces, spending more time making locks or with his workmen who were engaged in building operations, than in more courtly occupations. He had scarcely a word to say, and had a distressing habit of grunting when spoken to – and escaping from polite society as soon as it was possible.

Louis much preferred the Dauphine, although he was very annoyed with her over her attitude to Madame du Barry.

His daughters, led by Adelaide, had done a great deal to magnify the trouble between the Dauphine and Madame du Barry; Louise-Marie, the youngest, had now achieved an ambition, which had long been hers, and gone to Saint-Denis to become a Carmelite. Perhaps it was as well. One more daughter away, in a place where she was unable to plague her family and remind her father that he had not fulfilled his duties towards his daughters!

One day when the King was playing cards in Madame du Barry’s room, Chauvelin, one of the most notorious rakes at Court who was standing by Madame du Barry’s chair advising her on her hand, suddenly fell forward.

‘What is wrong with Chauvelin?’ asked the King shrilly.

Several of the men examined him.

‘Chauvelin is dead, Sire,’ was the answer.

Louis stood up and stared at his old friend. Then abruptly he left the apartment.

Madame du Barry followed him, and when they were alone he turned to her, his eyes wide with horror. ‘You know the life he has led,’ he said. ‘And he was struck down without warning!’

He was badly shaken and asked to be left alone.

At such times it was necessary to plan some diversion which would draw the King out of his depression.

Unfortunately it was not easy, for shortly after the death of Chauvelin, the Abbé de la Ville came to thank the King for giving him a post at the Foreign Office, and as he was admitted he had an apoplectic fit in Louis’ presence from which he did not recover. The Maréchal d’Armentières collapsed during a
lever
and died; and while the King was brooding on this, news was brought that Sorba, the Genoese Ambassador, had died without warning.

Louis, fearful of the life which he believed would follow that on Earth, and knowing that before he could repent he must give up Madame du Barry, fell deeper into melancholy. Give up the only one who could bring him any comfort! He could not do it.

And one day while he was hunting in the Forest of Compiègne a storm arose, and a tree very close to the King was struck by lightning; Louis believed that he had been warned.

Something must be done, decided Madame du Barry. She would arrange that they should leave for Petit Trianon. When they were there together he would forget his fears of death.

In the Petit Trianon Jeanne du Barry awaited the return of the King from the hunt.

She felt a little uneasy, which was strange for a person of her high spirits. The King’s looks had alarmed her when he had set out on the hunt that morning.

She had wanted to ask him not to go, but she had realised that her power over the King was partly due to her lack of interference. It was April, a time of sunshine and showers. The countryside was beautiful, and surely Petit Trianon was the loveliest place to be in at this time of year.

What worried her? It was foolish. It was a little note in the Almanach de Liège which had been pointed out to her.

‘In April a great lady who is the favourite of fortune will be called upon to play her last role.’

She had not liked the sound of that. Yet she reminded herself that she had many enemies who might have inserted it, knowing that it would cause her more apprehension than any of the cruel songs they sang about her.